


Keep off the Grass

by cherryjam



Category: Ranma 1/2
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-09 19:16:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18923359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryjam/pseuds/cherryjam
Summary: Ryouga wanders into an interesting bar in a quiet town and finds a redhead he hasn't seen in nearly a decade. Unbeknownst to him, no one else has seen her in about as long.





	1. Prologue

**~1987~**

 

“Oh, Ryouga, we must escape those who envy our love!”

_CLANG!_

“H-hey, let go of me!”

_Shk-TONG!_

Ranma careened away from Okonomiyaki Ucchan’s, dodging spatulas and towing a bewildered Ryouga behind her. He was making a token effort to wrench his wrist from her hand, but with the way she was gripping him and the speed they were going at, he wouldn't be able to get free without hurting himself, and she knew he'd recognize that. So, he let her drag him around, moving at speeds only he could match.

Ranma’s other hand was busy holding her hat - and hair - in place. It was bad enough she had to scuff these flats running like this, but if she lost the wig then the whole fake fiancée jig would be up. She was having too much fun to let that happen.

Once she felt they'd gained enough ground she veered towards a nearby park. Grassy inclines separated the trees and shrubbery from the surrounding urban sprawl. The two of them descended into the greenery.

A sign posted along the paved walkway implored them to keep off the grass, a request Ranma happily disobeyed. Ryouga hesitated on the threshold, but when she tugged harder and promised, “No one's gonna catch us, don't worry,” he acquiesced.

She pulled him into a clearing hidden behind a tree. When they'd finally stopped he yanked his arm back. He was probably about to yell at her, but before he could she hissed, “ _Hide!_ ” and pushed him prone next to her.

They watched from their leafy cover as Ukyou and Akane hurried into the park. Ukyou shouted threats and obscenities into the trees. Akane frowned, then suggested they split up. They went different directions down the walkway, each heading _away_ from their targets.

Ranma sighed with relief and rose to a kneeling position, smoothing out her dress.

“Wait,” started Ryouga, “why am _I_ hiding? I didn't-”

Ranma planted a hand over his mouth. “ _Shhh!_ ”

He slapped it away, growling. “Listen! I already have a girl I'm in- in lo- uh, in-terested in, so-”

“Oh, I know all about that… _P-chan_.”

He choked on whatever he'd been trying to say, then stammered, “H-h-how do you know about…?!”

It was all she could do not to grin wickedly. There were few things more satisfying than having guys - Ryouga especially, the big dope - wrapped around her little finger. “Because I'm your fiancée, duh! Shouldn't I know _everything_ about the man I'm gonna marry?”

Ryouga reeled at that, red rushing to his cheeks. He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes unfocused, before they settled back onto Ranma, his gaze suddenly firm.

His newfound intensity stopped her in her tracks. The air between them was changed now, charged somehow. If he was wrapped around her finger, now he was starting to squeeze back. She swallowed, the action unconscious.

He moved to crouch right in front of her, eschewing the trivial notion of personal space. “You still…” He shook his head. “Do you mean that?”

She blinked, forgetting herself. He was getting rather close. “Uh, mean what?”

“That you want to marry me.”

“WH- oh, right.” She brought her hands up to push him away, but recalled the ruse just in time. “Sure, just-”

He took her hands in his, clasped them, cradled them, and brought them closer to his chest. He was _very_ close, now.

“Then- then okay! I'll give us a chance.” His eyes were magmatic pools, pinning her under their heat. “I don't know you yet, but if you can really see past my faults and still want me, you _must_ be an incredible person. Let me get to know that person! And, and I won't make big promises about marriage right now, but…” He blushed again, but this time he didn't waver. “I'll take the first steps down that path with you.”

By the time she realized what he was leaning in for, it was too late. His lips crashed into hers.

Ranma’s mind went blank; her eyes drooped closed. This wasn't her first kiss, but it wasn't anything like her first kiss either. Mikado, chauvinistic bastard that he was, had kissed like he was pressing a wax seal to a letter: forceful, artless, rote. The lips on hers now - ‘ _Whose were they, again…?’_ \- were a whole new beast, all unbridled, overwhelming passion. Her deep-seated competitive side spurred her to meet that fire with her own, and before she realized she was doing it she started giving as good as she got.

It was only when a fang scraped against her bottom lip that she remembered who she was kissing.

She shoved him off, breaking the kiss. She realized that at some point she'd _straddled him_ , and if she hadn't been panicking before she sure was now.

Ryouga, dazed and smiling stupidly, said, “Wow, that was...”

Ranma finished his thought with her fist.

He crumpled into unconsciousness beneath her and she scrambled to her feet, panting, flexing her fingers, looking at anything but him. She'd never been one for weapons before, preferring her fists and feet, but in the moment she thought something big, mean, and sharp sounded like a good idea. A butcher's cleaver, maybe, or even a spit rod.

While she was fantasizing her glance drifted to the boy she'd kissed. Her cheeks burned. She shut her eyes hard and screamed with inarticulate rage, then bolted away from the clearing and out of the park.

“That- that _pig!_ That _pervert!_ That _mo-_ ther- _fu-_ cker! _RRAAGH!!_ ”

Once she calmed down enough to decide where to run _to_ \- rather than just running _away_ \- she headed toward the nearest grocery store she knew of. She'd whip something up just for herself tonight. Something with pork, and she'd take her sweet, sweet time cutting it up.

The other customers gave a wide berth to the five-foot-nothing bundle of fury muttering under her breath and stacking packages of pork chops in her arms.

“...roast him… sear him… _shred_ him…”

~

Ryouga came to with a sore jaw and more questions than answers. Sitting up, he found himself down one would-be fiancée. He was alone again. He sighed and flopped back down onto the grass.

“Guess she wasn't interested after all,” he said to no one in particular. “Should've expected that.”

There wasn't any point in taking it lying down; he could sulk just as well on his feet. He stood and started towards where he remembered the walkway being.

Five minutes later, he'd not found any trace of a walkway, but he had found something interesting.

“Huh,” he wondered aloud, head tilted back. “How'd they get palm trees to grow in a park?”


	2. A Quick Drink

**~1995~**

 

“Hm. I'm not in Vegas anymore, am I?”

Signs pointed to no. Where Las Vegas boasted skyscraping hotels and casinos, this new locale settled for small shops and offices in one or two stories. Where minutes ago there'd been blazing neon and burnout revelry, now there were only polite passers-by and cool, gentle blankets of snow. Vegas had already charged past midnight, and here the horizon was still the fading dark blue of dusk. And, well…

Ryouga wasn't the best at geography, but he was pretty sure Nevada’s deserts didn't border the ocean.

He turned from the waterfront, gathering bits and pieces as he wandered inland. The few cars that passed by drove on the left; that eliminated about two thirds of all countries. Signs in Japanese meant either some city's Japantown or, more likely, Japan itself. This much snow in November implied somewhere in the northern half of the country, though he struggled to narrow it down any further.

He scratched at the thick stubble on his jaw and yawned. He was getting tired, but knew from experience that staying up a bit longer to eat something would help with the jet lag. The time zone difference was - he pulled a moleskin from his bulging pack and flipped through the pages - sixteen hours forward, so an effective eight hours back as far as his sleep was concerned. Not the worst he'd weathered, but still, it wouldn't be a cakewalk.

Of the restaurants and bars he passed few caught his eye. They were quaint little things for the most part, inoffensive and unpresuming. He was about ready to give up and settle for a simple kaisendon place when he spied something unique.

One of the izakayas down a side alley boasted a mural painted opposite its entrance. It depicted a glass beer mug hung from a hook by its handle. The mug was full to sloshing with a foamy amber cure for sobriety, and half-submerged in the liquid was a koi, slouched over the rim, happily drunk. The noren read:

**釣り針**

“ _Fishhook_ , huh…” Ryouga muttered. It was an odd name for a bar, but then again, he'd rather have odd than boring. He ducked inside.

The interior was cozier than expected. Pale yellowish lights complimented the light red walls and wooden brown accents. Tables lined the length of the wall to his right while the bar counter proper stretched along the left. A menu board on the back wall stretched halfway down to the floor, boasting a more extensive and varied selection of both drinks and food than most bars he'd been to, which said a lot.

There weren't many other patrons in, though he attributed that to the fact that it was only just past working hours and a weekday to boot. A handful of what looked to be either sailors or fishermen crowded the tables by the back, and the only guy at the bar, a thirty-something in an expensive and ill-fitting suit, looked halfway sick off his second beer.

A waitress walked out from behind the bar bearing a loaded tray. Ryouga waited for her to pass him and reach the tables before he took a seat at the bar. He left a couple empty seats between him and the suit fellow.

He was surprised to find that the woman working the bar was white. She was college age and tall, almost as tall as him standing up, with high cheekbones, a swanlike neck, and whipcord muscles filling out the sleeves of her working blouse. Her blonde ponytail swished as she turned to him, smiling kindly.

“Welcome to Fishhook. Can I get you started with something?”

Her slight accent confirmed his suspicions; definitely Russian. He peeked back at the menu, curious as to how authentic their foreign dishes were. Chinese sounded good at the moment.

“Um, the hui guo rou please. And the strongest shochu you've got.”

She scribbled on a pad, tore out the paper and deposited it somewhere behind the curtained window to the kitchen. She then nabbed a bottle and asked him, “On the rocks, with hoppy, or…?”

He waved her off. “Just neat, thanks.”

She quirked a thin brow but poured it straight into a glass anyways. Soon it and a taller glass of water landed in front of him.

He nodded to her and downed half the shochu in a couple thirsty gulps. The water fell victim next, for the sake of actual hydration.

Satisfied, he pulled out his camera bag and took stock. He had enough rolls of film full of nature photos to net a pretty penny, at least once he'd gotten them shipped out. Maybe he'd treat himself to a hotel stay in this town. It certainly beat the heat of the desert.

While stuffing the bag back into his pack he noticed suit guy was starting to sway, his head drooping over his plate of skewers.

“You alright there, buddy?”

Suit guy looked him over and snorted. “Min’jer own business, meathead,” then went back to staring down his mug.

Just then, the waitress, who looked oddly young to be working in a bar now that he thought about it, arrived with his hui guo rou. She dipped her head, her black bangs obscuring her lowered eyes.

“Enjoy, sir.”

“Thanks.”

She moved to go back behind the bar, but suit guy caught her by the bicep.

Ryouga looked up from his food.

“‘Scuse me,” suit guy started, “but these-” he gestured to his skewers “-aren't what I ordered.”

Her eyes went wide at his touch. “S-sir, you did ask for the yakitori…” She tried to tug her arm away.

He resisted, pulling her closer. “Yeah, but I wanted the tare flavor, hear me? _This_ , this is _shio_.”

She tensed, looking caught between nerves, anger, and professionalism. “You didn't specify, and-”

“Jus’ lemme talk to the chef or something,” he sneered, letting go of her arm like he was throwing her away. “I'm tired of tryna get through to nobodies. I get enough of that shit at work already.”

She scowled. “Yes, sir. I'm sure she'd love to talk to you. Natasha, could you…?”

Distantly, Ryouga registered the Russian girl call, “Yo, Keiko,” through the window, but he was already out of his seat. He walked up behind suit guy.

“Hey.”

Suit guy tried to turn around in his chair, drink in hand. He overshot, then corrected himself and looked up at Ryouga with amusement. “Hey yourself, lugnut. You believe the service here?”

Ryouga frowned. “I think you've had enough to drink for the night.”

His eyes narrowed, lips thinning into a smug grin. “I dunno, I feel pretty alright. How ‘bout to apologize for bein’ so rude, you give me _your_ drink.” He gestured to Ryouga with his mug, sloshing beer all over the front of his button down. “And _then_ we see if I've had enough.”

Ryouga spared a moment to mourn the state of one of his favorite shirts, then grabbed suit guy by both biceps and lifted him out of his seat. Ignoring his protests, Ryouga held him up so his feet wouldn't touch the floor and started walking to the door.

The waitress gave him a nod of thanks as they passed her. She seemed surprised by the display of strength, though, he noted, not to the degree people usually were.

Suit guy had abandoned protests in favor of kicks to Ryouga’s shins. They were just as effective.

When they reached the threshold Ryouga tossed him to the pavement. He made to get up but his hand slipped on a patch of snow. He settled for propping himself up enough to sit upright. “Do you know who the _hell I am?_ ” he roared. “I could make _one_ phone call and-”

Ryouga shot him a fierce glare, the same one he used on wolves, bears, and worse to let them know just how little threat they posed to a creature like him.

“ _Leave._ ”

Suit guy didn't fare any better than the other animals. He glowered, managed to find his feet, and used them to stagger off, tail between his legs.

Ryouga was just about to turn around and head back inside when something jabbed him in the back of both knees, making his legs lock up. Before he could react a hard tug on his shirt collar sent him falling back into the bar.

As he fell, he tried to process the shock of being caught off-guard. That hadn't happened in a long, long time.

He broke his fall with one hand and brought the other up to defend, but a swifter hand than his hit him square in the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him and flattening him against the floor.

“Stay down, little piggy.”

His assailant stood over him, wearing a slim, all-black outfit under a long waist apron. Her hand was pointed at his beer-soaked chest, two fingers straight out like a gun. At the tip of her middle finger, a small, dense orb of golden energy swirled, straining to be unleashed. Hard blue eyes framed by an auburn fringe pinned him to the floorboards.

Ryouga’s mind reeled. He knew this woman. The years had changed her, matured her once-cherubic face, but he knew her. His jaw felt like it'd been locked up like his legs but, after seconds of deathly quiet in the bar, he managed one word.

“ _Saotome-?!_ ”


End file.
